


Dazed + Confused

by CommanderBunnBunn



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Drug Use, Family Bonding, Gen, Pot cookies, Silly Boys, Swearing, Team Bonding, Unintentional drug use, macgyver fluff challenge, ridiculousness without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBunnBunn/pseuds/CommanderBunnBunn
Summary: What would happen if the boys accidentally ingested the special baked goods.For MacGyver fluff and comfort and found family weekend.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver & Jack Dalton & Wilt Bozer
Comments: 20
Kudos: 30





	Dazed + Confused

**Author's Note:**

> I mean how can I resist writing the boys of Team Improv high on pot cookies? I could have gone on for days with them doing silly shit; it was so much fun to come up with. I could have gone weirder, but didn't want to freak anyone out.

Riley and her new boyfriend decided to bail on the family game night early, leaving the other three boys a little salty. They weren’t exactly in love with the new beau, and didn’t like the attention she was giving him. He didn’t think Jack’s dumb jokes were funny and he thought Mac was a little weird and condescending when he talked. Bozer was cool, but then again, Bozer was always cool. He was very in tune to social constructs and knew when he needed to tamp down that overly enthusiastic nerdiness. Jack just flat out didn’t care anymore what others thought of him; it was a perk of being middle aged, he ran out of fucks to give.

They weren’t even halfway to drunk and it was only 9pm. The tortilla chips were gone, but Bozer’s turkey chili RoTel dip was still warm and melty in the crock pot, woffting it’s enticing aroma throughout the house. Jack debated grabbing a spoon and just eating it straight out of the crock pot, what’s a little double dipping between friends? He thought better of it and went searching for a more appropriate edible dip vessel. The carrots in the fridge were slightly appealing, but not as good as some salty deep fried corn chips would have been. He was on the hunt for some salty goodness. He overturned the snack basket on the counter and rifled through the contents, mostly half finished bags of chips with the tops folded over and secured with clothespins or binder clips.

The Cheetos were promising, but they’d been open for at least a week, they were probably stale. Jack laid his eyes upon four chocolate chip cookies, individually sealed in little baggies. Hmmmm, those looked pretentious. Riley’s new arm candy had brought them and apparently forgotten them when he left. His loss. Jack tore them open and piled three into his palm.

Jack returned to the couch, forgetting the chili cheese dip altogether. He handed a cookie to Mac and one to Bozer. They were so soft and smelled delightful. Jack inhaled his small cookie and waited for his friends to finish theirs. “I was gonna microwave them and top them with vanilla ice cream for good measure, but we don’t need all that pomp and circumstance. These cookies better be good on their own for the price that was on the sticker.” He smacked his lips, “but honestly, it wasn’t all that. Kinda earthy. Still good. Let’s play some more Scattergories...after I eat that last cookie. Y’all don’t mind, do you?”

The other two shook their heads in unison, Jack definitely had more of a sweet tooth than they did, plus he was the one that found the cookies. Finder’s keepers.

After another twenty minutes of Scattergories, they got the letter K. Three puzzled faces had trouble wrapping their brains around appropriate K words for their categories. As if the rules changed spontaneously, they all made up words to fill in the blanks.

“Number 7,” Mac announced, “Offensive Words.”  


“Krap.” Jack enunciated the K with too much force and rolled his r before he started giggling.  


Mac barely got his answer out, “Knuckle-fuck.”

Jack was amused, “What the hell, man? That don’t count, that’s two words.”

Mac shrugged, “it’s not offensive without the 2nd part. It’s a compound word, like hardhat. Or carpenter bee. Wait? No. Huh?” they both looked at Bozer for his judgement on the matter. 

“I’ll allow it.” Bozer nodded with authority and Mac took a sip of his water with his pinky out and an eyebrow up, as if sipping tea.

Jack sneered, “What’s your word then, smarty pants?” 

With complete seriousness and confidence, Bozer spoke up, “Krigglenibbits.” 

Mac sprayed his drink out of his mouth and all over the table; Jack screamed with delight and fell into the floor laughing. 

“What in the hell is that?” Mac asked, wiping the water from his chin. 

Bozer maintained his composure and explained, “It’s what Starfire says on Teen Titans Go when she means to say ‘oh shit.’ so I suppose that in Tamaranian it is an offensive swear.” Bozer started to snicker, then repeated, “oh krigglenibbits.” His stone faced seriousness cracked as he began laughing and couldn’t stop. 

The laugh was contagious, and Mac started laughing too. Jack, curled up in the fetal position on the floor, was still laughing from earlier. He tried to speak between cackles, “oh shit, I’m gonna pee myself. Bozer, what did you put in that dip, I can’t stop laughing.” 

“Nothing different,” Bozer giggled, “I’m just a master of comedic timing.”

Jack finally caught his breath and interjected, “fuck, I’m hungry!” Instead of getting up and walking to the kitchen, he chose to steamroll his body across the floor there. He quickly opened every cabinet and the refrigerator door repeatedly, “Mac you got any of those little pizza bagels? Or maybe some string cheese? Or some Milk Duds. Oh! Milk Duds in some of that cheese popcorn that comes in the bucket at Christmas. Do you have any of that Christmas bucket popcorn, Mac?”

“No.” Mac thought hard about his options, “But I think I want a turkey sandwich and Doritos. NO! Turkey sandwich with Doritos.”

“You said the same thing twice, dude.” Jack explained, confused.

Mac elaborated, “I mean turkey sandwich WITH Doritos, like doritos as a condiment.” 

“Ooooh, that sounds so good.” Jack’s eyes widened.

“But I don’t have any Doritos.” Mac’s shoulders sagged as he said it. 

Jack sounded unreasonably upset, “Fuck! I’m so hungry.”

Bozer added, “same. What are you gonna name your tapeworm, Jack, because you’ve eaten like 5 meals today. Why are we even still hungry?”

Jack picked up one of the wrappers from the cookies that was sitting in the top of the trash can. He looked at the price sticker and noticed the name of the dispeansary where the cookies were purchased, “fuck, man. We ate some Scooby Snacks. Now everything makes sense.” Jack told them as he knocked the cap off the jug of milk and began to chug it straight from the container.

“We did what?” Mac’s eyebrows tried to jump to his hairline.

Bozer turned the tables and Macsplained to Mac, “we ingested some cookies baked with a compound butter that contained copious amounts of THC extracted from the hemp plant.” 

It was Jack’s turn to involuntarily spray his drink across the room. Luckily he was in the kitchen because milk also came out of his nose 

Jack wiped his face with a paper towel and tried to regain his composure, “Look at Bill Nye the Science Guy over there.” 

“Nah,” Bozer answered, “that’s Mac. I’m more of an Alton Brown.”

“Fair point.” Mac agreed.

“Ok nerds. So what are we going to do about this? I’m pretty sure the Phoenix doesn’t allow for this kind of recreational drug use.”

“Well, it wasn’t intentional, so we are ok there. Plus they may not find out. If we stay here and lay low, there’s no reason anyone would even have to know.”

“Except Riley and her boy once they realize their cookies are gone. His cookies. Did she even know? I’m gonna have to have a little chat with her. While I’m totally ok with it in general, it’s a different story when it comes to keeping your job. That’s a basic adult responsibility, and I hope she wouldn’t put that in jeopardy for a night of giggles and snack cakes.” 

Bozer cut him off, “Alright, Dad, we don’t need a lecture. Might as well enjoy the buzz while we have it. You don’t know how long I’ve prayed for a night for Mac just to let loose and have a good time.” He looked over at Mac who was sitting sideways in the chair with his head hanging upside down over the arm. “Though I am pleasantly surprised that he’s this laid back, I kinda assumed he’d be a ball of panic and nerves, which is one reason we never did this in high school.” 

“Why are you so cool, Boze?” Jack asked. 

“I’m just naturally cool. I won’t say experience, but maybe experience. You don’t get through film school without making some...unconventional friends. Those guys’ script ideas were as clever as their improvised bongs. I was just there for the people watching. I came up with some of my best screenplay treatments with a contact high.”

Mac was swishing his head back and forth, still hanging upside down, as his hair swept lightly across the ground, “that one you wrote about the anthropomorphic salt and pepper shakers was pretty good.”

Bozer sounded offended, “Dude, you’re thinking of Blue’s Clues.” 

“Nuh uh.” Mac disagreed sitting up and pressing his back into the chair to ease the head rush, “I remember it, they had a baby, Paprika, and I told you that paprika is actually a spice in itself so it wouldn’t work, and maybe they adopted the baby instead of gave birth to it.”

“Nope, still Blue’s Clues, Mac.” 

“Really? Huh.” Mac accepted his mistake and changed the subject. “We should watch something.”

“Something weird.” Jack suggested.

Bozer asked, “Big Trouble in Little China?”

“Ah, no.” Jack shot it down. “That eyeball monster gives me nightmares on a good day. I don’t wanna see it when I’m not firing on all 8 cylinders.”

Mac grinned, “Your cylinders are firing just fine, Jack, but instead of a little motor oil to lubricate, the whole engine is submerged in a viscous fluid.”

Bozer continued, to Jack, “Then is there a particular film from the Bruce Willis uvra that you’d be interested in watching?” 

Mac opened his mouth to object when Jack cut him off, “You better choose your words carefully, hoss. Do not start…”

Mac looked offended, “hey! I was just going to suggest maybe one of the films where he’s not necessarily the lead, but still managed to steal the show. Like Pulp Fiction or Sin City. Those are both great Bruce Willis films.”

_____

Once they turned on Sin City, the stylistic choices in cinematography had them all mesmerized. Random snacks were strewn about the coffee table with no rhyme or reason, but most of them blended together nicely to a stoner. 

With a mouth full of Cheetos and Reese’s Pieces, Jack asked, to no one in particular, “what would you do if your daughter became a dancer like that? All those pervy eyes on her. I’d gouge out every pair of those eyes with Mac’s Swiss Army Knife if they looked at my little girl that way.”

“I don’t have kids.” Bozer countered.

“I think he means hypothetically,” Mac explained without bothering to swallow a mouthful of gummi bears. 

Bozer thought for a moment. “Maybe by the time I have kids, we can choose their genes. Like take this trait from this parent and this from this one, and I’ll make sure not to have a daughter. Oh, or do like in the movie Gattaca and have perfect babies that grow up to look like Jude Law. 

Jack took a swig of his orange soda. “Talk like that is gonna guarantee you have a daughter in a couple of years.” 

“No thanks!” Bozer interjected.

“Aw, come on. You wouldn’t want to take her to ballet, braid her hair, get pedicures together...watch her hack the NSA.”

“You used to braid Riley’s hair?” Bozer was shocked.

“Yeah, smarty pants. I can do a lot of things you don't know about.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Bozer narrowed his eyes at Jack, “next time we’re at work, I want you to show me on one of the wigs in the lab.” 

Jack thought for a moment, “I can do it right now. Even after eating Scooby Snacks.”

“I don’t have a wig for you, smart-ty pants.” Bozer explained matter-of-factly.

“We have a Mac.” Jack looked directly at Mac, who looked like a deer in headlights and swallowed a dozen half chewed Gummi bears.

Bozer loved the plan and grinned from ear to ear. 

“Come sit, Mac.” Jack ordered, and Mac sat obediently on the floor in front of Jack, between his knees. “Better yet, Bozer,” Jack began, “I’ll teach you how to do it. It’s a skill that women dig.”

Bozer nodded, “let’s see the goods first, then I’ll decide whether to enroll in Jack Dalton’s School of Infinte Wisdom.”

“Hey, the admissions requirements are very high, you better bribe the dean to get your application accepted.”

Bozer touted back, “I’d like to inform the dean that I have already matriculated.”

Jack blinked a few times, forgetting what they had actually been talking about, then he started giggling. It was a high pitched giggle, very uncharacteristic of Jack’s usual tough guy demeanor. The giggle was contagious because the other two men joined in with silly giggles as well. Jack bent over in the seat, barely able to speak through the laughter. “Oh, god, I gotta pee now.”

Jack climbed over the back of the couch awkwardly and went to the bathroom just off of the living room, “Guys!” he called out, “my piss smells like a pumpkin spice latte.”

“Oh no, this again.” Mac melodramatically smacked his forehead before pawing another handful of gummi bears out of the bag in his lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch.

“The what?” Bozer asked and held his palm out for some bears as well. Mac shook his head no and communicated in a language only they could interpret, he raised his arm and flicked his wrist. Bozer acknowledged and opened his mouth. Mac tossed a bear right into his mouth and they laughed.

Mac answered his question, “The pee smell thing. Something about peeing and cooking bacon and Sugar Bombs”

Jack shook the water off his hands as he walked back into the room and sat on the back of the couch. He lifted his feet and let himself fall backward onto the seat as he giggled. “It was Sugar Smacks. Now hook me up.” He opened his mouth and closed his eyes to await a flying gummy bear from Mac who was about six inches away and tossed the bear over his shoulder. It bounced off Jack’s nose and he cracked one eye to see if another was incoming.

Mac threw another to Bozer, which he caught. And Jack, still horizontal and backward on the couch with his feet over the back, felt around near his ears for his rogue candy.

“What’s a Sugar Smack? It sounds like a cocaine bump on Sesame Street.” Bozer asked awaiting another bear.

“Man, who are you guys? Did your parents not feed you cereal? Sugar Smacks changed its name in the 90s I think, to something less sugar sounding. I think changing the name was counter intuitive because childhood obesity more than tripled after that. You can’t blame the cereal. In the 80s, our moms loaded us up on sugary cereal for breakfast and shoved us out the door, telling us to get back before dark for dinner. We were starved and run like yard dogs. Don’t blame the cereal.”

Bozer sobered slightly, catching another gummi bear, “I see you have strong feelings about breakfast cereal. I’m sad you don’t have your Sugar Smacks anymore.”

“They changed the name. It’s still around. They look like cowrie shells with liver spots.”

“Oh!” Bozer exclaimed emphatically, “Super Golden Crisp! Smacks! Honey Smacks! Those do make your pee smell funny. Damn, I thought I was just weird. Or diabetic.”

“Seeeeee!” Jack nodded slowly, still lying flat with his legs hooked over the back of the couch, “it’s a thing. Mac just thought I was nuts. And Pumpkin Spice Lattes and asparagus....” He was cut off by Mac shoving a fist full of gummi bears into his mouth and leaving his palm there momentarily. 

“Shhhh,” Mac told him, patting Jack’s cheek, “no more talk about bodily functions.” Jack nodded in agreement and attempted to sit up in the most awkward way possible. He inched his body counter clockwise on his back like some kind of inept breakdancer in slow motion. He scooted and scooted with his legs still in the air and bent until he rotated himself 180 degrees, bumping Mac’s head with his butt more than once. The static electricity Jack generated made some of Mac’s hair poof out. 

When Jack sat up, he was amused by the rogue blonde strands. Jack rubbed his socks vigorously across the rug under the coffee table and then let his hands hover over Mac’s head to attract more of them. His plan backfired when the static electricity discharged to Mac’s ear, causing a blue spark to connect between Jack’s hand and Mac’s ear.

“You’re a wizard, Harry!” Bozer exclaimed.

Mac covered his ear protectively with his hand and ducked away from Jack. “Ow!” Jack shook his hand out and giggled.

“Do it again!” Bozer cheered. 

“No!” Mac protested and jerked away further pointing to Bozer. “Do it to him!” 

Jack scuffed his socks on the floor repeatedly again and wiggled his fingers ominously at Bozer while he crept slowly toward him. Bozer laughed and squealed like a toddler and pulled his legs up into his chest effectively hiding in a ball like a hedgehog. He peeked out of his little ball and Jack was closer and grinning like an idiot. Jack struck like a viper and zapped Bozer on the knee. Bozer shrieked and giggled and Jack fell to the floor laughing. 

“Oh, if you like that, check this out.” Mac told them as he started scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. 

Jack looked over his shoulder, puzzled. "That's a grocery list, hoss."

Mac ignored him as he finished his list. After ripping the paper triumphantly from the pad, he handed it to Bozer. "You two track down these items, we should have everything on hand here already. Bring them to me here at the coffee table. It's like a scavenger hunt, and the prize is science."

Jack cringed and pulled a face.

Mac corrected, "it's a magic trick." He rolled his eyes when out of view, on his way to look for the remaining materials. 

For about 10 minutes, Bozer and Jack giggled together while running around the house looking for things. Slowly but surely they brought the items, one by one, to Mac as he began piecing together his improvised science trick. 

Mission completed, the other two took their seats on the couch, both leaning forward, elbows on knees with their chins resting on their palms in awe of the build. Vinyl tape was wrapped, nylon stretched, motor repurposed. Mac built and they were mesmerized. Once he finished, he stood, arms out front to present his masterpiece. 

"Ta dah! A Van de Graaff generator!"

Jack and Bozer's jaws dropped because they felt that was the desired reaction to the large shiny metal ball. "Woooooow," Bozer's awestruck voice was barely above a whisper. "What does it do?"

Mac flipped the motor's switch and it came to life. The contraption didn't appear to do anything. They didn't see anything happening. "Watch." Mac pointed one finger, inching it slowly toward the globe. A blue bolt connected to his finger with a pop. The other two shrieked with childlike glee and jumped back in sync with each other. 

"Try it." Mac coaxed.

Jack and Bozer timidly eased hands toward the orb. With a crackle, a spark connected to Jack's finger; he pulled his hand back instinctively, his eyes widened, and his eyebrows arched up higher than Mac had ever seen them. Bozer was zapped next and then they both tried it again, shaking it out and touching it over and over again, giggling at the magic sphere Mac made for them. 

“Now watch this.” Mac’s eyes grew cartoonishly wide with mischief as he put his hands on the shiny ball and waited. Slowly, strands of hair rose, standing on end in all directions. The other two were blown away by the sorcery. They gasped and cooed, envious that neither of them had hair long enough to noticeably fly. As smoke rose from the old motor, Jack and Bozer oohed and aaahed, thinking it was part of the trick. 

“Oh, oops.” Mac said, very nonchalant as he strolled away from the machine to the kitchen. Small flames danced from the bottom of the contraption, no one apparently bothered by the fact that it was on fire in the middle of the living room. Mac knocked the machine over with the white foam from the fire extinguisher, and then sprayed more underneath and into the bottom of it to smother the rest of the flames. Mac shrugged and dropped the extinguisher on the couch.

“Can you do that again?” Jack asked eagerly. 

Mac plopped his butt onto the middle of the couch, “nah. Probably not a good idea to catch the house on fire.”

Bozer nodded in agreement, liking the idea of his home not being damaged or having to call the fire department because they burnt down the house while high on pot cookies. “Weren’t you supposed to braid Mac’s hair?” 

“Ha, oh yea.” Jack looked toward his best friend and ordered him to sit down in front of the couch. “Now I need a rubberband, but not an actual rubber bands, but the ones you use in hair so it doesn’t get caught in his hair and rip it out.” He sat on the couch behind Mac, knees on either side of Mac’s shoulders. He brought his fingers up through Mac’s hair to get a feel for the length. “I don’t think I can do this.” Jack said to no one in particular. 

“I knew you were bluffing,” Bozer hollered from the kitchen, still looking for some kind of hair tie in all the wrong places.

“I’m not bluffin’, man, it’s just too short I think. I mean I think I could get a ponytail, but the stuff up front is gonna fall out immediately, and my hands are too big for the delicate stuff.” He continued to run his hands through Mac’s hair, shaking it as it fell from between his fingers. “Oh wait, I can do two down the sides!” Jack exclaimed. “I need two rubber bandy thingies now, Boze. And uh, something pokey? Like uh...something pokey, so I can make this part even. Like a comb or a kebab skewer or something.”

“Ok!” Bozer was determined to complete his mission and disappeared for a minute. He returned with a very small comb and a very wide toothed comb. “Will these work?” he handed them over without waiting for an answer, “and I couldn’t find any rubber bands, but twist ties could work.” His voice went up in speculation, but they were masters of improvising, so they could totally make it work.

Jack held the comb vertically and proceeded to divide Mac’s hair straight down the middle starting at his forehead, brushing each side over gently with his hands and continuing down to the nape of his neck. He noticed the goosebumps that had prickled all over Mac’s arm and neck. “You ok, hoss?” 

“Uh, yeah. It um, feels good. Like really good. I kinda want to go to sleep now.” Mac answered. Jack pulled his hands back to his lap for a moment. “No, don’t stop.” Mac reached back and grabbed Jack’s hand and put it back on top of his head like a puppy that wasn’t quite done getting his scritches.

“Aight Bozer, pay attention.” Bozer, on Jack’s right, leaned in attentively with his chin resting thoughtfully on his fist. “First you gotta start wherever you’re gonna start, and I’m gonna start at the top here. And you divide the hair into three equalish parts. But this part right here,” his finger hovered down the part he just made, “you don’t take any hair from the other side.” 

The three divided chunks of hair rested between Jack’s fingers, “and you’re gonna cross em over. You do know how to braid, right? That’s kinda essential to this skill. I learned with horses, and then perfected this french braid thing on an old Barbie hair stylin’ head before I did it on Riley.” He continued to weave and gather the locks to down below Mac’s ear while talking. “And this little two pigtail braid number was ideal for soccer and softball. All the hair can still fit under the helmet when you have it divided in two braids like this.”

He got to the end of the braid on the right side and stuck his palm up toward Bozer for a hair tie. Bozer held up the twist tie, “this is all I got.”  
“I guess it’ll do, but you’ll have to wrap it around the end while I hold it.” 

Bozer wrapped the tiny piece of metal and paper around the hair as tightly as he could and then formed the ends into the loops of a bow. He smiled at his contribution and Jack moved on to the left side as Bozer stood on the couch and stepped over Jack’s lap and arms to get to the other side to watch. 

The second time, Jack explained the technique of gathering more hair to the braid as he went. Bozer secured the twist tie at the bottom and Jack threw up his hands in accomplishment. “See, told ya’!” He stuck out his tongue at Bozer. Mac was silent, staring ahead with heavy lidded eyes and a satiated dopey grin. 

“I think you broke him, Jack.” 

Jack countered, “nah, I think we fixed him.” as he stood to admire his work from the front. “Damn Mac, you look like a Backstreet Boy.” 

Bozer chuckled, “Jack, I think you’ve confused the Backstreet Boys with the the Brownie Scouts.” Bozer stood up and started to sing to the tune of a Backstreet Boys song, “You light” with a long pause, “big-fiiires. Your knife...has pliers. Believe... when I say. You should run that way.” He bobbed his head to unheard music and continued after the appropriate break, “But he cuts two wires apart. Pump works through your heart. Till you’re gray. And he fixed it Mac’s way”

Jack joined in with the hook, “Tell me why.” and they continued the back and forth both swaying hips and snapping their fingers together with the music playing in their heads.

Bozer crooned into his invisible microphone, “He kept León’s new heart safe.”

Jack belted out with even more feeling, “Tell me why.” 

“He’s gonna make your phone break.”

“Tell me why.”

“He never fails to save the day. And he fixed it Mac’s way.” 

Jack erupted in an uncontrollable chipmunk giggle. He clutched his stomach and bent over giggling so hard, eventually having to sit down to keep from falling over. Finding a break in the contagious laughter, Jack managed to squeak out, “Bozer, you are a lyrical genius,” before exploding into a fit of giggles again. He’d had double the THC dose the other two had, but he was also extensively trained to withstand being drugged and interrogated, still his strong resolve was broken. 

Jack curled up into a ball on the ground and laughed until the tears dripped from the corners of his eyes. Amazed at their larger than life badass Delta writhing in a fit of giggles on the floor, Bozer couldn’t resist laughing as well. Mac still sat, dazed and content, staring at the tv but seeing nothing in particular. 

Once he caught his breath again, Bozer asked Jack, “since when do you like the Backstreet Boys?”

“I dunno.” Jack panted. “I don’t technically know them from the other boybands, but I know some of the music.” 

Jack eyed the acoustic bass guitar sitting in the corner in the back of the room and his brows floated up deviously. He crawled around the couch and lowered himself to an army crawl to slither the rest of the way to the guitar. He silently relieved it from its stand and strapped it across his back to stealthily army crawl back to the couch.

As Jack climbed back up on the couch, he left the bass slung across his back, looking around the room with shifty eyes, as if it wasn’t glaringly obvious that it was back there with the neck sticking a good 2 feet out diagonally from his shoulder. Bozer wondered how long he’d leave it there. Jack always had choice words about being “that annoying GenX guy who breaks out the guitar at every party” and doesn’t want to be that guy, except that night he intended to be that guy. 

Bozer and Mac exchanged a look, silently acknowledging that they’d both play along with Jack’s not so sneaky ploy and pretend they’re both shocked when he eventually pulled it out. Looking like a cartoon character trying to play it cool but doing anything but, Jack grabbed another handful of random snacks and tossed them into his mouth, leaning back into the couch, awkwardly stiff against the glossy wood. 

As he chews, Jack hums a little tune, wiggling his shoulders to the music in his own head.

"Hey Jack," Bozer announces deliberately, "why don't you find us some music. I know how much you love Harry's vinyl collection."

"I can do you one better!" Jack spun the guitar around excitedly and let it rest in his lap, Bozer and Mac acted astonished to see it, as if it had appeared out of thin air. Jack felt the strings with fingers, not even bothering to check if it was still in tune, he plucked slow familiar bass riff with his first 2 fingers. Swaying with the mellow beat he was laying down, Jack waited for the other two to join his groove, repeating the intro until they seemed fully hooked.

Jack soulfully belted out the lyrics, “some people call me the space cowboy. Some call me the gangsta of love.” Jack closed his eyes, really into the music, and croons “Some people call me Maurice.”

And Mac jumped in with the cat call sound, blowing everyone’s mind. Jack made it through the first hook before he lost his place in the song and just stopped playing, a happy dopey grin plastered to his face. 

Bozer, enthralled with Jack’s impromptu concert, remarks, “Dude, that’s deep” before acknowledging his munchies. “I think I want some waffles...m&m waffles.”

“Is that a thing?” Jack asked, “because that sounds amazing.”

“I don’t know!” Bozer answered excitedly, “but we’re going to try it out. I have some of the tiny m&ms for baking, I don’t think they’re too big to fit in the waffle iron.” 

“Doesn’t matter, cuz they melt in your mouth, not in your hand.” Jack added matter of factly.

Mac informs them both, “Neither one of those is a waffle iron. So the only way to figure this out is to conduct an experiment.”

Jack rubs his hands together excitedly, his drawl much more noticeable “AllrightAllrightAllright, more science fun with Mac.”

Bozer mixed nearly a gallon of waffle batter for their various experiments with the waffle iron. They made waffles with m&ms, waffles with the remnants of crumbs in the Cheetos bag, but the waffles with gummy bears was a game ender. There was so much gooey burnt sugar stuck to the waffle iron that they would probably need to replace it, but luckily they already had a dozen strange waffles made. 

Jack scoured the refrigerator for things to accompany his waffle. He piled his arms with various things and dumped them on the counter next to the stove. 

“What’cha doing with all that, Jack?” Bozer asked curiously. 

“Gravy!” Jack answered emphatically. After a few minutes at the stove over a saucepan, Jack started to layer his things in on a plate. The cheetos waffle was topped with some ham and a slice of cheese. Then he flooded it with the bechamel sauce he’d just concocted in the saucepan, topped it with an m&m waffle and then drizzled syrup on top of that, finishing with a smiley face made of canned whipped cream. 

Satisfied with his creation, Jack put the lid back on the whipped cream before having an epiphany. With a palm full of m&ms, Jack tilted his head back as far as it would go and filled his mouth with whipped cream, tossing the colorful candies into the air and catching a few in his mouth. The rest clattered to the ground. 

Without saying a word, Mac was by his side instantly with his own candies in hand. Mac tilted his head back with his mouth open like a baby bird, the universal signal for a shot of whipped cream. Bozer joined in as well, and by the time the can of whipped cream was empty, there was a smattering of m&ms on the floor and three boys with a rapidly increasing sugar buzz.

Jack grabbed his plate, a knife, and a fork and headed back to the couch to eat. Satisfied with just nibbling their strange waffle concoctions dry, Bozer and Mac followed moments later with their own snacks. They sat on either side of Jack to watch him eat the utterly horrific mix of sweet and savory and randomness, any idea of personal space thrown out with the cookie wrappers long ago. He tied a dish towel around his neck and held his knife and fork up in front of him like a Bugs Bunny cartoon before slicing into the waffle. 

The other two watched, wide-eyed with anticipation to see what Jack thought of that mountain of a mess. He took a gigantic bite, more than he probably should have; he was lucky not to choke on it. He chewed and fought with the bite with maximum effort and swallowed noticably. Expressionless and blinking deliberately, Jack was unreadable. 

“Well?” Bozer held the “L” for an extended period of time. 

Jack exhaled loudly as if he’d been holding his breath for several minutes and exclaimed, “it’s the most magical thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.” Jack proceeded to cut more pieces for himself and for his friends. 

“What in the world do you call it?” Bozer asked, “It’s like a croque monsieur but made by Buddy the Elf. Oh, or like a Croak Monsieur.” Bozer cackled. “Get it? Croak! Like die from it.” 

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” 

“Do you have a more clever name? I think I may have out dad-joked you.”

“That you did, son, but I think a more suitable and sophisticated name for this masterpiece is the ‘croque copain.’” Jack announced in his most perfect French accent. 

Bozer admitted, “Ok, yeah, that is pretty cool. You sound like a real chef.” 

Jack beamed with pride and offered bites to his companions. 

Apprehensive but accepting, Bozer tasted it first, “I’m not sure if it’s the pot or what, but this is actually pretty good.” 

“Want some more?” Jack asked over a mouthful of food.

Bozer stood to walk toward the kitchen, “No thanks, I’ve got my own thing in mind. A waffle taco.”

********

The next morning, or rather early afternoon, Riley knocked on the door as a courtesy and immediately opened the door with her own key, announcing through the crack in the door, “sorry I bailed last night, boys. I hope you still had a good time.”

No one said anything to oppose her entry, so she walked in. The rainbow of tiny chocolate candies strewn about in the kitchen caught her eye first. She laughed, “wow, you guys must have had a really good time.” 

The burnt gummi bear caracases in the waffle iron got her attention next as she crept around the kitchen, m&ms crunching under her boots as she noted the destruction left in their wake across the countertops, “wow, Mac,” she called out, “what kind of drunken experiments did you get up to last night? Should I be worried you knocked yourself out with some home brewed methane or carbon monoxide or something?” 

She peeked into the living room over the bar, the tv was on, but the screen saver was scrolling silently across the screen; her skin prickled as her worry crept up. She expected someone should have answered her by then. “Guys?” Afraid to touch any evidence, she walked carefully, dodging candy pieces on the floor. “Mac? Boze?” There were grease spots on the fridge and counters, batter and chocolate in places it wouldn’t normally have landed without a struggle. 

Riley approached the living room gingerly, afraid of what she was going to discover. The wind blew the door to the back deck closed with a harsh slam and she jumped with a little squeal before ducking and taking cover behind the couch. She scooted around the sofa with her back pressed against it to stay low and out of sight. As she rounded the back she saw Jack face down on the couch with his arm dangling into the floor. 

“Jack!” she whispered in a panicked voice. “Jack!” she pawed roughly at his shoulder. 

Jack groaned and rose slightly up on his elbows, “what’s wrong, baby? You ok?”

She responded louder, slightly more panicked, “What happened here? Is Mac ok?”

“Shhhh,” he shushed and answered in a whisper, “he’s good. The blanket fort isn’t soundproof. Don’t wake them up.”

“What?” she raised an eyebrow, confused.

Jack pointed to the blankets stretched across the coffee table and tv console and cushions of the couch, his feet being an integral part of the structure’s stability. Puzzled, Riley crouched low to the ground and lifted up a side of one of the blankets. She cooed in the the most awestruck voice upon seeing Mac and Bozer curled up together inside the blanket fort. 

Not even knowing where to start asking questions, she just asked, “what?”

“We found your cookies,” Jack told her.

Her look of shock and realization was all he needed to know she understood completely.


End file.
